Identity: Outtakes
by madame.alexandra
Summary: A short anthology of scenes that were clipped from / not included in my AU multi-chapter "Identity."
1. Han and Carlist

_a/n: as mentioned: this is a (very short) anthology of "outtakes" for Identity; they weren't actually written and edited out, they were conceptual ideas that I knew were happening in the background, but I didn't try to fit in for the sake of devoting time to other narratives. there will be five chapters to this anthology and there is no posting schedule. here you go!_

* * *

 **Outtake 1: Han and Rieekan; Council Meeting Talk**

 _Reference: Identity, Chapter Two (2)_

* * *

Han wasn't sure what to expect when General Rieekan called him over as the emergency council meeting ended. His head was still spinning a little from the possibly explosive information they'd just received, and his main concern was the controlled, iron expression that had settled over Leia's face as the intelligence sunk in.

Rieekan's voice was level, neutral, and short – and Han couldn't resist the wary grimace that spread across his face as he approached the man. He realized that he might be in for a rebuke – Rieekan was a good commanding officer, and he'd always had a healthy, friendly respect for Han, but he was Alderaanian, and Han had no idea what he thought about Leia publicly confirming her relationship with a smuggler.

It would be – disappointing to have Rieekan abruptly become as cold as some of the others had.

Han fell into a natural at-ease posture before the General and looked at him guardedly; Rieekan looked past him, over Han's shoulder to where Leia was speaking quietly with Dansra Beezer – and then, with Mon Mothma, as the Chief of State took Dansra's place.

Han cleared his throat, eyeing Rieekan sharply.

"Got a lecture for me?" he asked curtly – what was the point in drawing it out?

Rieekan turned his head and focused on him, his brows going up mildly.

"No," he said slowly, and then titled his head to the side and inclined it a little, setting his shoulders back with purpose. "Well," he amended, "hardly the one you're expecting."

Han considered him a moment, and then folded his arms, relaxing a little. His jaw remained tight, and he waited.

"If the remarks of Threkin Horm and Dodonna are anything to go by, I'm sure you're taking shit from all sides lately. I have no doubt you've heard enough of others' input on your involvement with the Princess," Rieekan said.

He was speaking with such unruffled composure that Han couldn't identify where this conversation was going – if he was angry at Han's audacity, if he was hostile, protective – Leia was taking a lot of flak for this from the former High Command, and Han bristled at the thought of Rieekan hurling criticism at her, too – he'd always sensed she valued Rieekan more than protocol allowed her to show or admit.

Rieekan gauged the tense expression on Han's face correctly, and cleared his throat shortly, holding up one hand.

"You're not going to hear it from me," he said, matter-of-fact. "Being a marginally perceptive man and a somewhat talented military official, I'm not fool enough to think this hasn't been going on for," he paused, flippantly finding a word: " _years_."

Han chose his words carefully.

"Somethin' like that," he said vaguely.

Rieekan nodded once, firmly.

"I suspected. Women like Princess Leia do not put their life's work on hold to opt into a personal search-and-rescue mission," he continued, thinking of the Princess's actions after her return from Bespin – personal leave, quiet determination, an unorthodox partnership with a man who had recently betrayed her. "You must mean a great deal to her."

Han said nothing to that – it was uncomfortable territory, and he still questioned where Rieekan was going with this.

The general took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"It won't come as a surprise to you that Princess Leia's well-being is…important to me," he said formally.

Han nodded – he felt a sense of gratitude towards Rieekan for expressing something that simple: genuine concern for Leia, as a _person,_ was something he related to – the others seemed to be concerned, first and foremost, with Leia as a pawn or a strategy.

"If you've been – involved with her – for any length of time, it also won't come as a surprise to you that the Empire, ah, that she was subjected to – there's significant damage," he faltered. "She's been through a lot."

Han's shoulders tightened, then relaxed; he didn't look away, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"She's not damaged," he defended.

"Solo," Carlist started.

"General, Leia's a strong person."

"Solo," Carlist repeated, in the same placating, understanding tone. He waited patiently, unperturbed by Han's reaction; it was hardly unexpected, and he wasn't offended by it – and he had meant no offense. "I am not insulting Princess Leia," he said firmly. "I am not implying she's somehow – less respectable," he said. "I mean _damage_ has been done _to_ her."

Han flexed one of his hands, unfolding his arms and rubbing his palm on his trousers stiffly. He figured that was a better way of putting it, but it wasn't a satisfying thing to hear – though Han was hardly, as Rieekan pointed out, ignorant to the depth of trauma Leia had suffered.

He'd been sleeping with her for too long to have remained unaware.

Han lifted his hand to his face and brushed his jaw with his knuckles, finding himself immensely out of his element with the conversation.

"What're you trying to say, Carlist?" he asked, dropping formalities. He pointed at himself a little sarcastically. "You think I'm just more damage?"

Rieekan shook his head.

"No, I don't. I think nothing of the sort – _far_ from it," he said emphatically. "It seems to me that you've been good for her, and furthermore, I have no input on Princess Leia's personal life."

Han snorted derisively.

"You mind mention' that to everyone else?" he growled, flicking his eyes around at the collection of people still milling around.

Rieekan smiled a little wryly. He sighed, looked around, and then gave Han a hard, serious look.

"This isn't easy for us, for Alderaanians," he said dully. "The – even if we only allow the barest flicker of hope that there might be survivors, being disappointed will be devastating – and this is her father. The Organa family was always very close." Rieekan took a deep breath. "No matter what happens, I think this is all going to be very hard on her. Even without this – the dust is settling, and without the war to distract her, a lot of things may get…very hard."

Han set his back teeth against each other.

"I'm trying to tell you point blank that she may need professional help," Rieekan said quietly.

Han arched a brow warily, a little incredulous – not because he didn't agree, but because he knew, and he was sure Rieekan did to, that Leia would _never_ –

"Therapy? You want to have that conversation with her?" he muttered callously.

"I want her to survive," Rieekan answered simply. "If Princess Leia is going to reject powerful alliances for you, I want to know that you are going to be up for it."

"Up for it?" Han quoted.

"For her," Rieekan said sharply, "and everything that will come with her."

For a moment, Han felt smaller; he felt out of sorts. He'd always had a good rapport with Rieekan – equal, friendly, jovial, but for the first time, he looked at the general like he was a true superior – somehow, Rieekan's opinion on the whole affair was more daunting than the others – the others seemed to say –

 _How dare you think you have a right to the Princess of Alderaan._

But Rieekan, Rieekan's opposing mantra was –

 _I am trusting you with the Princess of Alderaan._

Han appreciated the trust, and he was more than up for the task. He wracked his brains for a way to convey that with dignity, but he just wasn't the type to wax philosophical with a bunch of flowery words, and all he could do was give a small shrug, and a determined, understanding nod.

"I'm up for it."

Rieekan simply nodded, wholly accepting the conviction that was present in the statement. He extended his hand, giving Han one last long, good look as they shook on it, and then he nodded shortly over his shoulder, a wry smile touching his lips.

"You better save Her Highness from Mon Mothma," he advised sagely.

He released Han's hand, Han gave him a small, respectful salute, and turned, striding towards Leia. The defiance that had been in his posture since he walked in and faced men like Dodonna and Horm ebbed away, and as he came to stand alongside Leia, she was taking a step back from Mon Mothma, her expression sharp, and final.

Han did a very subtle double-take – Mon Mothma looked quite shaken, and she was very pointedly refusing to acknowledge his presence - and he rested his hand gently on Leia's arm.

"Ready?" he asked gruffly – he knew he couldn't wait to get out of here, away from all these people – her muscles were tense under his touch, and he pressed his palm into her soothingly.

She gave a small nod, and a murmur of consent, and he loosened his grip, turning to let her follow him out at her own pace. He stood just outside the door, waiting, as she gave cordial nods goodbye, and then she caught up to him, slid her arm into his, and gripped him tightly without saying a word.

Han spared a moment to glance over her head and catch Rieekan's eye, and when he did, he gave another firm, confident nod – _yes_ ; he was up for this. He didn't care how difficult things got – it had been such a struggle to win Leia's heart in the first place; he wasn't about to be defeated by anything that came up down the road.

* * *

 _voila! they're all going to be fairly short - as the partitions in Identity are usually on average only about 8 pages._

 _-alexandra_


	2. Leia, Han, and Bail

_a/n: these are essentially going in "order" as in, they're chronological in the story. so i won't be skipping around._

* * *

 **Outtake 2: Leia, Han, and Bail: Bail stops by & thinks Leia is in a "meeting" with Han.**

 _Reference: Identity, Chapter Eleven (11)_

* * *

Leia stood in the kitchen, picking half-heartedly at a half-eaten plate of food. She'd come home from work eager for dinner, but she'd changed her mind after beginning to eat – not altogether uncommon, in times when she was particularly stressed.

She was listening to the _tap_ of the fork against the plate as she pushed food around, letting it drown out her thoughts. Vaguely, she asked herself if that was troublesome behavior, but since she wasn't actually harming herself –

She poked at some vegetables that were quickly becoming lukewarm, and then speared one and nibbled on it, deciding if she wanted to go as far as eating it or not. She closed her eyes, pulling the fork out of her mouth and frowning – it was _good,_ she had no complaints there, Han's cooking was always good, she was just –

Walking into the kitchen behind her, Han nudged her shoulder as he passed, pausing to lean down with his head close to hers.

"Eat, Leia," he suggested, kissing her cheek.

He strode over to the sink and threw his empty plate in, along with the remnants of other dishes he'd used to cook.

Reinvigorated, Leia resumed her efforts with the vegetables, managing a few more bites before she leaned forward and resumed her picking at the food, finally giving up. She just didn't feel like eating. There was too much going on – in her life, in her head.

She rubbed her forehead with her free hand, set her fork down, and pushed it aside a little, turning slightly to give Han an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Han," she murmured. "There's nothing wrong with it," she assured him.

He glanced at the half-eaten food, said nothing, and washed soap off his hands, drying them on a towel. Leia watched him grab a container and save up the food for later, giving her a pointed look as he placed it in the icebox. He turned the sink off and stepped up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.

He started rubbing his thumbs in small circles, tilting his head to catch her eye sideways.

"You sure your day was okay?" he asked gruffly.

She shrugged roughly, and nodded.

It was the same as it had been yesterday, and the day before – outrageously unconventional, completely abnormal, and yet so still and eerie and routine. She went to work and then carved out increments to handle the return of a hundred or so Alderaanians, and to handle her father himself, and she didn't know when it was supposed to feel like it was real.

The moment she and her father were completely alone, in a casual setting together, she supposed – if she ever let that happen. She'd felt such an outpouring of emotion for him on the landing platform and yet since –

She was locked up again, inside herself, protected; scared of what this meant, and who he was now, and what he'd think of her. She didn't know how to express it to Han without sounding insane, and she knew he was on edge himself, wondering when his big introduction was going to happen, and how it was going to go down.

Han lowered his head and kissed behind her ear, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.

Leia took a deep breath and shook her head.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, Han," she said rapidly.

She shifted, shaking him off gently; he stepped back, holding his hands up. She turned, leaning back against the counter, chewing on her lip.

"I don't want to do this," she said.

He looked bewildered.

"Do what?" he asked.

She waved a hand, and then put it to her forehead.

"This," she repeated, exaggerating the word. "I don't want to be," she waved her hand again, "like this – upset, tense," she muttered. She sighed edgily. "I want to have a nice night."

"I'm bein' nice!" Han protested, narrowing his eyes warily.

She held her hands up to him, palms flat.

"You make it too easy for me to fall apart sometimes," she said, exasperated. "I don't need it right now. I don't have time."

He put a hand to his hip, rubbing his jaw with the other.

"It was a hug," he muttered gruffly.

Leia compressed her lips and looked down at her feet, rubbing her heel against her ankle. Han shook his head and shrugged, running a hand through his hair. He shrugged again and turned silently and left the kitchen; Leia listened to him head back towards the bedroom, mess around, shut a door – then saw a flash of his clothes as he headed past the kitchen, and back towards the sitting room.

She bowed her head and rubbed her hands over it – _Sith, Leia,_ she thought to herself tiredly – _don't do this to him._ Had she really snapped at him over a touch, and affectionate gesture? She really couldn't afford to lose her composure presently, because she wasn't all too confident in her ability to regain it very well considering everything that was going on, and now was not the time to display damage to her father.

Still, Han was worried; Han meant well and she – it was ridiculous to take a tone with him because he made her feel _too_ safe.

She took a deep breath and pushed loose strands of hair out of her face, pushing away from the counter and going into the sitting room after Han. She noticed immediately that the Holo wasn't on – he was looking through some mechanical manual on the couch. She came up behind him, leaned down, and kissed his temple, and then ran her hand through his hair before coming around the couch and sitting next to him closely. She was silent for a moment, studying his profile.

"I know I sound crazy," she said finally.

"No," Han drawled, turning his head slightly and looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's just that you're starving," he said pointedly.

Leia smiled softly, and he set the manual aside, leaning back. He crossed his arms and shifted to face her better, arching a brow. She brought one knee up on the couch, running her palm back and forth over her knee.

"I just don't feel like eating," she justified quietly. "My stomach," she said, gesturing vaguely. "It's in knots, all the time."

"Yeah," Han acknowledged. He frowned, both worried, and accepting – he knew the stress she was under, knew the uncharged waters she was navigating. It wasn't wholly unnatural for her to be too distracted for gluttony.

He tilted his head back and forth and then sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Leia, I don't know what's bothering you – "

He started, but the door chimes interrupted him, and he broke off, swearing internally. He knew, in an obvious manner, what was bothering her, of course: she didn't know how to adjust to her father's return. There seemed to be something underlying that, though, something more specifically sinister, and it was there in how pale her face seemed lately.

She got up, her brow furrowed, while he rubbed his jaw, pretending he wasn't too annoyed to be interrupted.

"Expecting anyone?" she asked lightly.

"I don't invite people here," Han retorted under his breath, sitting up a little.

Leia shot him a look, and then disappeared around a stunted wall into the hallway. She scanned a thumbprint over the pad and brought up a holographic image of the caller, freezing for moment when she recognized the image – _Father._

He was looking at her door with interest, almost bewildered interest, and Leia stood there watching his blue shimmery image, her teeth clenched – should she yell and warn Han, opened the door and turn him away – she felt unnecessarily alarmed, considering this was her father, the man who she'd loved, who'd raised her –

Swallowing hard and trying not to over think it, Leia opened the door.

Bail Organa looked up, blinking as if he'd just been struck by sunlight. He looked at her blearily for a moment – and she didn't know if it was her casual clothing, or her loose hair, that threw him – and then he cleared his throat.

"Hello, Leia," he said gently. His lips turned up in the mild, but cautious smile he'd been giving lately. "I – I haven't woken you up?"

She blinked.

"Woken - ? No, Father, these aren't pajamas," Leia said, gesturing at her pants. "They're - it's," she realized she was wearing a pair of Han's old bloodstriped trousers, pale blue, with the faded gold stripes. She trailed off. "Not pajamas," she said lamely.

He nodded at her, and she shook herself, stepping back.

"Come in," she said firmly – she couldn't let him stand aimlessly in the hallway, and whatever was going to happen – well, if this was how he was going to meet Han –

"I was on my way back to the Embassy residence, from one of my," he sighed tensely, "briefings," he said, frowning – he meant the sessions he got, periodically, to fill him in on the things that had happened since he was out of commission, "and I thought I'd like to see where you live."

Leia nodded, allowing the door to shut.

"Of course," she murmured, inclining her head, leading him in. "It's – well," she said dryly, arching a brow, "nothing like what you'd imagine, I'm sure."

Bail lifted one shoulder wryly.

"Yes, I suspected your home was another thing that's much different," he said tiredly.

Leia gestured to a grand room to the left, just beyond the hallway that led to the door.

"My rarely used dining room," she remarked – she didn't entertain here often; she and Han never even ate in that dining room, if they were alone. They'd eaten on the balcony tonight, until Leia had gone in and retreated to the kitchen.

She paused in the hall, gesturing.

"Kitchen," she said a little dryly. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked, reaching up to brush her fingers at her throat – why was she having so much trouble speaking?

Her father shook his head. He peered into the kitchen, tilted his head curiously.

"Do you have a cook?" he asked, noting the small size.

Leia pressed her fingers against her pulse.

"You could say that," she said dryly _– if Han counts._

Her father gave her a quizzical look, then turned, and wandered around the corner into the living room; Leia followed close on his heels. Her heart leapt into her throat and nearly choked her as she tried to plan what she was going to say – _Father, this is Han, you remember him – he's my – he's my –_

"Oh," Bail said aloud, stopping in his tracks.

Halfway into the living room, he'd spotted Han, and he paused.

Leia stepped around her father, and Han sat up, alarmed. A muscle jumped in his jaw and he glanced at Leia, silently demanding direction, and she just gave him a wide-eyed look, lifting one shoulder – she had no idea what had inspired this, either – heavens, her father was just so disoriented by these adjustments –

"I apologize; I didn't realize you were in a meeting," he said formally, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes and inclining his head to Han. "It was – Solo, was it not?"

Han stared at him a moment, then blinked, and nodded.

"Yeah, Solo," he said – and then immediately decided he probably should have said _'Yes, sir.'_

Bail nodded.

"Forgive me, I'm afraid I've – forgotten your rank," he said.

Han cleared his throat.

"General," he answered gruffly – still shooting Leia a subtle, alarmed look – _what do you want me to do, Sweetheart?!_ But Leia wasn't saying anything; no introduction, no remarks – just letting it unfold.

"Ah, yes; General," Bail said, nodding again seriously. "You – own the ship that I was told, ah, made the difference at the Rebel victory on Yavin?" he inquired.

Leia came forward, resting her hands on the back of the couch, placing herself between her father and Han without a word. Han nodded warily.

" _Millennium Falcon_ ," he said gruffly.

"What kind of ship is it, if I may ask?" Bail asked. "I know pilots frequently take pride in their ships.

Leia's brow furrowed slightly; she smiled a little – ever the elegant politician, her father; engaging in small talk as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"It's, uh, a Corellian YT-1300 light freighter," Han said. "F series."

Bail glanced at Leia.

"That actually means nothing to me," he said dryly. "I'm afraid I am only well-versed in," he paused, sighed quietly, "Alderaanian ships." He paused for a longer moment. "It's the ship that rescued my daughter?" he asked Han.

Han gave a jerky nod.

"Yes," he said.

Bail gave a pained smile.

"Well, I suppose they ought to contract you specifically for rescuing Organas."

Leia moved towards him and took his elbow, sensing his difficult in referencing their home and their trials over the past few years – she knew that difficulty well; she'd experienced it too, for so long. Han cleared his throat for her attention, giving her a sharp look.

"Leia, you want me to leave?" he asked.

Leia stared at him a little oddly – _leave your own home?_ But Han couldn't hear her thoughts, and he didn't know what she wanted from him.

Bail gave Han a somewhat startled look, though Han didn't understand what it was for, or really notice it – the Viceroy was merely taken aback that this general had just called Leia by her given name, and nothing else.

"No, I do not," Leia said, firmly finding her voice.

Her father shook his head, eyes sharpening.

"I should excuse myself," he said hastily. "Calling without warning was – entirely presumptuous – Leia, I know you have duties; I should not have disregarded that and assumed you would be free – "

"Father, it's alright," she soothed gently.

He shook his head, looking around.

"No, another time," he said. "I can return another time."

Even so, Han was getting up, brushing out the wrinkles in his shirt. He gave them both a wary look, his eyes lingering on Leia with a certain blank nature that worried her – he must be bothered that she was just going to let her father think this was a professional meeting –

"I'll step out a minute, Leia," he muttered – and before she could blink, Han was sliding open the balcony door, disappearing outside.

Leia turned to her father, cringing a little. He looked back at her, mildly curious, mostly confused.

"He's rather forward," he remarked calmly.

Leia smiled faintly, and her father seemed to forget about it, turning to look around.

"It looks comfortable here," he said. "Cozy." He turned back to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Forgive me again for the intrusion, Lelila," he said quietly. "I only wanted to see how you lived."

She nodded, placing her hand over his and patting it.

"It's no problem, Father," she assured him. "It's no problem."

He smiled, and inclined his head towards the door.

"See me out," he suggested, and she gestured for him, showing him the way as a gentle reminder. He glanced towards the balcony for a moment, his brow furrowing, and though he frowned slightly, all he said was – "Will you pass my thanks to General Solo once more for leading the rescue mission?"

Leia inclined her head, stopping with her father at the door.

"I'll tell him," she promised.

The Viceroy smiled. He made a movement as if he were going to hug her, and then paused, frowning, as if it may be unwanted. Leia smiled at the awkwardness of the gesture, and leaned forward and kissed his cheek, squeezing his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Dad," she murmured softly, dropping the formality of _Father_.

He smiled at her with relief, and nodded, silently taking leave. Leia allowed the door to shut and felt like all of the air left her lungs in a great rush, leaving her winded, and unsteady.

 _Meeting – meeting,_ he thought she was in a _meeting_ – and what had he said; _he's rather forward_ – he was such a shell right now, scrambling to adjust, and Leia didn't know whether to laugh or cry over his assessment of Han's presence, and she didn't know if she had done the right thing in letting it be for now, or if she should feel horribly, devastatingly guilty for letting him think even for a second that Han wasn't the most important person in the world to her.

She closed her eyes briefly, and then went to find Han. He was still on the patio outside, standing at the railing idly, and Leia stood in the doorway, folding her arms in around herself in the evening breeze, and watched him.

"Han?" she asked, trying to gauge his mood.

He turned around after a moment.

"'S he gone?" he asked neutrally.

Leia nodded, feeling bewildered about the whole occurrence herself. Han gestured between himself and her, his eyebrows going up.

"And, when our meeting is over, you want me to go back to the _Falcon_?" he asked, deadpan.

Leia bit her lip tightly, unsure if he was joking, or being nasty. He looked at her for a moment, and then smiled charmingly, and though Leia sensed there was a small part of him that did resent what had just happened, she let herself smile, and her shoulders relaxed.

"Oh, you can stay the evening, General," she said, turning her nose up snobbishly.

Han grinned, and came forward, reaching out to grasp her shoulders.

"I can?" he asked, feigning shock. "Wait 'til the holo reporters hear."

Leia laughed, leaning her head against the doorway. She sighed, shaking her head. Han squeezed her shoulders, resisting the urge to pull her close, because of how she'd reacted earlier.

"What are we gonna do, Leia?" he asked.

He meant about them, and about her father, and meshing all of that together, but Leia, though she gave him an understanding look, chose to interpret it as a different question, and tilted her head fetchingly.

"Shower, sex, sleep?" she suggested.

Han gave her a silent look that said he understood her evasion, and then tilted his own head.

"In that order?"

"Preferably," Leia murmured. "Though, two of the three can be done simultaneously."

Han gave her a deliberately dense look.

"So, you want to sleep in the shower, or sleep through the sex?"

Leia tilted her head back.

"Han," she laughed, leaning forward to rest her head on his chest, and swatting his arm.

"Ahh," Han drawled, feigning innocence. "You meant shower sex."

Leia kissed his chest through his shirt.

"Well, if you're up for it," she murmured sweetly.

Han tilted her head back and leaned down to kiss her.

"I'm up for anything, Sweetheart," he assured her.

This time, when he wrapped his arms around her for a hug, she automatically threw her own arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly. He kissed her against the wall, half-inside the apartment, half-out, and she read between the lines of his playful words – _I'm up for anything Sweetheart_ – so she knew he'd be up for it later, when it wasn't all so playful.

* * *

 _chapter 11 would pick up directly after this_

 _-alexandra_


	3. Leia and Winter

_a/n: some fun, really; this was actually the first outtake that was planned - inspired the series._

* * *

 **Outtake 3: Leia & Winter's girl's night.**

 _Reference: Identity, Chapter Eighteen (18)_

* * *

Han had called it a _slumber party_ – hopefully, with a stupid, roguish look on his face, because he probably thought of a girls' night as a man's fantasy – but that's not what this was at all. Aside from the fact that, of course, no girls' night had anything to do with men and what they wanted women to be doing in private, this was Leia's reclaiming of time with her best friend, her sister in all but name – the first night of many to come, if the future treated her kindly.

Winter arrived, two bottles of Chandrilan champagne – _'We each get one; I'm not sharing'_ – in hand, carrying with her a small bag with only sleep attire and chocolate within it, and Leia locked the apartment door and shut them up inside.

Much like when she'd come over for dinner, before the press conference, before Bail and Han had started snarling at each other's throats and Han had chosen to leave to take the high road, becoming familiar again was effortless – Winter was so effortless, the only one she needn't have worried about, and who felt the same, a breath of fresh air.

She was like Han, almost, in a way; she had a knack for treating Leia the same – she didn't care what had happened, she didn't care what she heard or saw about her; Winter just tried to adjust to the world she'd been rescued into, clutching at vitality and youth and seizing onto youthful resilience. Winter's crowning glory was that she had known Leia before the Death Star, and she brought to the table that added element of depth, so Leia could find peace in a friendship and tell herself – _see; you can weave your two worlds together._

They abandoned the holo; no need for cheap films, or droning distractions; Winter started with a glass of champagne and light conversation about what it was like to watch Bail Organa twiddle his thumbs all day – she asked about Luke, she asked about Leia's day; she talked about Rouge's fascination with the marriages she'd missed among the galactic royals –

She and Leia sat on the couch like two teenagers; Leia, with her bare feet up on the table, Winter with one leg tucked under her and the other tapping the carpet, her blonde head resting comfortably on Leia's shoulder.

"I'm only slightly sad Han isn't here to cook us dinner," Winter murmured, tipping her drink into her mouth.

Leia smiled, tilting her head back. She laughed quietly.

"He's somewhat useful," she complimented.

"Well, I should hope," Winter said seriously. "If you're going to forgo fortune and status, you at least need a man who can do the cooking and fixing and cleaning you previously paid servants for."

"You think Han cleans?"

"He seemed like a decently clean male human," Winter assessed critically, tapping her teeth on her champagne glass. "You let him sleep in the bed, after all."

"Only when he isn't covered in engine grease."

"No? Oh, where do you sleep with him when he is covered in engine grease?" Winter asked, lifting her head primly, raising her glass. "In the shower?"

Leia grinned, looking at the ceiling pointedly.

"Ah, against a wall, then – or, this table?" Winter lifted her foot and nudged it against the table. "The floor," she guessed. "No matter if there's engine grease on the floor."

"There's a hazard of slipping," Leia pointed out in a murmur.

"If you're having sex on the floor, there's plenty of mess to slip in."

Leia closed her eyes, opening her mouth, appalled.

" _Winter_."

"Swallow that scandalized tone, 'Lila," Winter chastised smartly. "There's no point in having a lover when there's no best friend to gossip about him with."

Winter sat forward, pouring additional champagne into her glass, and then taking Leia's, and topping hers off. She returned the glass, and Leia brushed her hair back, laughing. She'd missed Winter so much – the uncensored honesty of their conversations, complete trust in each other, supportive, judgment free sisterhood –

Winter arched a brow, touching her glass to her lips –

"Alright, Leia," Winter said dramatically, giving an exaggerated wink. She sat sideways on the sofa, facing Leia, leaning back against the cushions. "Enough foreplay," she joked. "What's he like in bed?"

Leia shrugged and sipped on her drink and Winter threw her head back.

"God _dess_ , Your Highness, I understand discretion as well as the next girl but you are one stubborn vixen," she sighed, shaking her head. "You agreed to girl talk!"

"Yes," Leia laughed, "but I didn't agree to give you a graphic description of my sex life!" she protested. "That's Han's privacy, too, you know."

"You think he doesn't throw around a brag or two around his guys?" Winter asked skeptically.

Leia shrugged. She shook her head mildly – she supposed she didn't really know, but it would take her by significant surprise if he did. Despite all the flirtation he'd engaged in around her, and directed at her, and all of the sexually charged jokes he tended to make, she'd never heard him discuss details of his trysts.

"Hmm," Winter hummed. "Class act, then. Knock me over with a feather," she said primly.

She leaned forward, glass resting on her knee, resting her elbow on the back of the couch as she lowered her voice in mock menace.

"You denied me these juicy details for years, you know," she accused. "I was turning your head with ribald tales left and right and your chaste little self only let it slip that you let Giles take pictures of you."

"I prefer to exude an air of mystery," Leia retorted.

"Liar. Prude. Is Han good in bed or not?" Winter fired back.

Leia sank down, shaking her head with amusement. She rested her own champagne glass on her knee and threaded her fingers into some loose hair, shrugging after a moment.

"I'm satisfied every time," she said finally; purposefully cryptic.

"Okay, that was an uneventful comment; wildly uninformative and evasive," Winter teased, rolling her eyes. She kicked up a brow skeptically. "Every time? You've never had to fake it?"

Leia blinked unassumingly. She held her hand out flat.

"I still enjoy it if I can't get there," she said flatly. She narrowed her eyes. " _Had_ to fake it?" She quoted. She gave Winter a look. "No one told me I was required to _fake_ pleasure."

"So, he's that good?"

Leia ignored her, continuing innocently –

"Why _would_ I fake it? Seems like rewarding him for nothing."

Winter shrugged simply.

"Sometimes I fake it because I'm bored," she said seriously. "Then, it ends, and I can go get a snack."

"And then you leave a man thinking he's good, and screw over the next woman, I expect," Leia quipped.

"Is this you saying all of Han's previous women left him thinking he was good when he's not?"

"I just told you Han keeps me very happy."

Winter groaned.

"I want details, Lelila, _details_!" she demanded. "You don't have to be crude, but are we talking – best sex of your life?"

Leia gave her a look, and Winter laughed loudly.

"Alright, fair enough," she teased. "Well, then – is he better at," Winter gestured to her mouth, and then between her legs, "than Giles?"

"I never let Giles do that to me," Leia said shortly.

Winter stared at her.

"Leia – what the fuck were you doing with Giles if you were doing that to him, and letting him take pictures, and getting nothing – "

Leia shrugged.

"I'm a privilege and he never earned me."

Winter rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"All I want to know is whether or not Han Solo is a beast in the sheets. A man to end all other men."

Leia put her heel against her chin and sighed.

"Winter, my frame of comparison regarding sex is not a difficult one to beat," she said dryly.

Winter started to say something smart about Giles again – and then abruptly her face fell into a grave expression and she drew her lips back in a horrified wince, her fingers flying to her lips. She hadn't even been thinking – and what if Leia had been sitting across from her thinking of Han compared with her other – _experience_ , if one could even call it that – and Winter was just insensitively stirring up flashbacks –

She leaned forward and touched Leia's knee gently.

"Leia, I'm so – I didn't think about," she trailed off, and recomposed herself after a moment. "I'm sorry, Leia."

Leia smiled at her a little, and shrugged.

"Suffice it to say he's the best I ever had," she said wryly, and Winter reached up to squeeze her hand, contrite for a silent moment.

"All I mean is that I hope he makes it good for you," Winter said, searching her friend's face. "I imagine it must have been…difficult."

Leia shrugged again. She smiled, taking a sip of her champagne.

"Han takes care of me," she murmured.

She smiled at Winter again, really trying to reiterate that it was nothing. She didn't like being treated any differently, and she was glad that Winter was here, sharing girl time with her like it was a long ago Alderaanian night.

It was only that – she wasn't used to this kind of girl talk. She remembered Winter's stories, of course, but she'd never had her own to respond with, and the words felt private on her tongue, now.

Winter placed her hand on Leia's shoulder then, and squeezed, looking at her earnestly.

"He does, doesn't he?" she asked, seeking reassurance. Winter licked her lips. "I don't just mean in bed. That's nice, of course, but it's not everything. I've slept with men who blew my mind, but wouldn't have cared if I died right next to them."

She tossed her head, studying Leia's face.

"I know I've met him," she said. "I know you want to marry him, so tell me; he's it, he's everything?"

Leia looked down at her lap for a moment, and nodded.

"Everything," she repeated.

"I can trust him with you, blindly?"

"Yes, Winter," Leia promised softly.

Winter, clearly not done, rested her chin on Leia's shoulder aggressively.

"Is he the living embodiment of a fairytale knight?"

Leia laughed hoarsely, throwing her head back.

"No," she protested, amused.

"Excellent answer; they were such bloody whiners," Winter noted seriously.

She straightened up again and looked at her champagne contemplatively.

"Would he die for you?" she asked quietly.

Leia sighed, and turned her head.

"Han knows better than anyone that I would find it unbearable if one more person died for me."

Winter nodded, taking a sip.

"I value that, too," she said quietly, "because willingly walking into death is not how you show love to a woman who wants to keep you."

Leia held her glass to her lips and nodded, turning to mirror Winter's posture.

"He's worthy," she said.

"Don't worry; we'll convince Pasha," Winter assured her.

Leia gave a soft sigh, a quiet groan.

"Is it just because it's Han – or would it have been this way with any man?" she asked, exasperated; half-curious, but really already knowing the answer.

Any man would have shocked him, made him aggressively paternal, but mostly – it was Han.

Winter held up her palm seriously, composing her features.

"Here's the problem – the men you used to know, and who he'd have expected to court you, looked like they'd bow to you as they held open the boudoir door and gently lay you down on a bed of roses with your nightgown neatly placed around your hips – "

Leia glared at Winter, anticipating a wildly risqué statement to follow –

"Han, on the other hand, looks like this – _animal_ who has probably - bent you over something – _more_ than one thing, if he's any fun, always gets you completely naked, talks dirty, makes you swear - am I getting close?"

Winter eyed Leia pointedly – _details, Lelila; I want them! You promised!_

Leia arched a brow.

"Anyhow, Pasha cannot handle that."

"I sincerely hope, with every fiber of my being," Leia said, deadpan, "that when Father is scowling about Han, he is _not_ thinking about how he fucks me."

"You said _fuck_ ," Winter announced, pointing at Leia triumphantly. "Have another glass of champagne; before the end of the night, you'll be telling me what your favorite position is."

"You took this conversation to a precariously creepy threshold," Leia retorted.

"Fine; I won't mention Pasha again."

Leia grinned, and downed the rest of her champagne, holding it out expectantly while Winter poured more. Winter laughed, her eyes shining, and Leia gestured with the drink a little, giving Winter a look.

"You know, I'm certainly not one to lavish any praise on Giles Durane," Leia remarked, "but your mockery of my dalliance with him is a little misplaced."

"I'm merely offended on your behalf that there was no reciprocation – "

"It lacked reciprocation by my decree, but what I received was invaluable education in certain arts," Leia interrupted, holding her palm up and gesturing gallantly. "You want all of this gossip on Han's skill; did it ever occur to you that I _blow_ his mind?"

Winter put a hand to her heart, feigning shock.

"Do you?"

"He couldn't stand when I was done with him."

Winter gave a shriek of laughter, leaning forward to shake Leia's shoulder in amusement, and pride.

"And he couldn't believe what had happened, no doubt," she laughed wickedly.

"He certainly wasn't expecting it," Leia laughed, blushing smugly even as she recalled the look on Han's face the first time she'd gone down on him.

"He must've thought you'd been schooled in it," Winter snorted.

"Well," Leia waved her champagne glass dramatically, "I was raised to be a magnificent orator."

Winter sank down on the sofa laughing, wrapping one hand around her middle to clutch at her ribs.

"Fine, fine," she gasped. "I'm almost satisfied with your emerging salacity," she held up one hand. "I do want to know what your favorite position is," she said shamelessly, "then I will leave you alone – I swear; saint's honor."

She held her hand over her heart; Leia rolled her eyes, turned them up to the ceiling – and for all her conservative tendencies, she couldn't deny Winter, and it was such a rush to feel this young, and this unburdened, and this comfortable with someone who was purely a female companion.

So, Leia took a bracing sip of her champagne.

"I like," she said, choosing a demure tone. "I like it all," she said diplomatically, "I like it most when he's not on top of me."

Winter rested her chin on her palm, thoughtful.

"That," she remarked intently. "Is not what I expected."

Leia lifted one shoulder.

"Me neither," she answered, lifting her brow a little. "I think it's Death Star residue," she murmured.

Winter removed her chin from her hand and let her arm fall forward, curving it around Leia's shoulders. She didn't say anything, just squeezed her shoulder, and Leia nodded in understanding.

"You should just tell me, if you don't want to talk about something," Winter said earnestly. "I won't be offended."

Leia waved her hand.

"No, I think there's favors to be done, to myself, in saying some things out loud," she murmured. "Talking," she added.

She sighed, and tapped her glass.

"Father and Luke are coming over tomorrow," she said. "To have the conversation," she said, stressing the word: "Vader," she hissed ominously.

"Your…blood mother?"

Leia nodded. She looked at Winter curiously.

"I wonder why he told you," she said softly. "After all these years, keeping it from my mother – and he didn't tell Rouge," she mused. "He told you, on that ship."

Winter's eyes were wide.

"Leia, Pasha was fading, those last few weeks. He was holding us all together and it was so tough. I think he started to wallow in his regrets. It was just a moment of weakness."

Leia's chest ached for their plight, for her father's sadness.

"And what did you think?" she asked.

Winter, brushed her hair back, shrugging.

"I was shocked," she said bluntly. "I don't care, though."

"Has it made you afraid of me?"

Winter shook her head, giving Leia a skeptical look. She just shook her head again, implying the question hardly merited an answer.

"I don't think it matters. I think it's a credit to you that it's so starkly unbelievable – you have lived your life in such a way that anyone would think – I thought – _Darth Vader? That's absolutely impossible. She's nothing like him."_

Winter paused, and smiled wryly.

"Did he know?" she asked.

Leia looked surprised.

"Who – know what?"

"Lord Vader. Did he know you were his?"

Leia gave her a startled look – well, she'd never – had he? He'd known Luke; yes, and Luke had said Vader's last thoughts were for the two of them – but had he known who? When he told Luke he figured out that he was not the only one, had he known that the sister he spoke of was the girl he'd mercilessly tortured?

"I don't know," Leia confessed, with a sense of wonder.

"Well, that's the story I want to hear," Winter said. "Not – how should Leia cope with her father being Darth Vader, but – how should Vader cope with his daughter being Leia Organa? I think he'd be petrified."

Leia blinked at her – and then smiled at her brilliantly, so brilliantly it almost hurt. She'd have to hang on to that – she'd have to hang on to thinking of it that way, for tomorrow night's conversation; she'd have to tell herself Vader ought to be petrified of _her_.

* * *

 _-would have taken place at the very end of chapter 18_

 _* s/o to Carrie Fisher's unabashed penchant for talking about sex with frankness._

 _-alexandra_


	4. Leia, Rouge, and Winter

_a/n: i had to go digging through the nine circles of my hell blog for the rough draft of this i wrote - one more left, after!*_

* * *

 **Outtake 4: Leia, Rouge, and Winter; Warning Rouge of Han's return.**

 _Reference: Identity, Chapter Twenty-Two (22)_

* * *

It was with determination and a healthy amount of reliance on her classical aristocratic training that Leia set out to acclimate her Aunt Rouge to the idea of Han's impending return. The amount of preparation she put into the little conversation made it seem like she was preparing for some sort of grueling negotiation, an invasion even – but all she was really doing was asking her persnickety, old-fashioned aunt to try and adjust to the idea of the wayward Corellian.

Naturally, she enlisted Winter's help.

The three women sat in the sunny day room of the Embassy residence, late in the afternoon. Bail was across planet with Rieekan, occupied for the entire day – and probably the night, as well – and Han was slated to return the next day, assuming there were no glitches in hyperspace that delayed the inevitable.

Rouge nursed her therapeutic tea, holding it to her lips with a somewhat beady-eyed look of suspicion turned on the girls, snug in fine peach-coloured robes and an embroidered scarf.

"Yes," Leia was saying calmly, "he is, in fact, coming back," she repeated – in response to Rouge's absurdly startled _'He hasn't left for good?'_

Rouge looked at them over the rim of her teacup.

"I thought for sure your father had scared him off," she said wryly.

Leia arched a brow a little coolly.

Winter tilted her head.

"You thought _Pasha_ had scared off an ex-Imperial officer, ex-street-criminal, ex-drug runner, six meter Corellian smuggler?" she asked innocently.

Rouge gave her a withering look, and Winter returned a look of pure uncertainty.

"Really, Aunt Rouge – you thought that? You thought a man who had been in an actual prison three times was frightened by – "

Leia lifted her hand slightly, holding up two fingers.

"Two times," she corrected quietly.

Winter turned her head, feigning confusion.

"Two?"

"Only two."

"Ah, two," Winter started to correct, with a wicked grin –

Rouge set her teacup down delicately – but commandingly, at the same time.

"That's quite enough, young lady," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You've made your point."

"It's much more likely that _you_ frightened him off," Winter said conspiratorially.

Rouge folded her arms.

"What is the overarching point of this little parley?" she asked stiffly. She looked at Leia. "Am I being asked to behave myself for General Solo?" she prompted. "I assure you, I am not the one in need of an etiquette lesson."

Leia smiled a little, and sat forward. She placed her hands on the table openly, pushing aside her own tea just a little.

"Aunt Rouge, I'm making an effort not to spring him on you and Father again," she said sincerely. "I've already made Father aware of when he intends to be back, and now I'm doing you that courtesy. I understand he's a shock, and you've both had difficult adjusting," she paused, "but Father has agreed to be cordial and give Han the benefit of the doubt, on my word, and I'd like you to do the same."

Rouge eyed her shortly – she had barely had any interaction with the man in the first place, beyond watching the horrifying display at the public press conference, and then keeping up with the affair via media speculation and gossip.

Bail had made several remarks over the past few days that indicated he had decided they should be more receptive to Han – _Well, Leia's given me a convincing argument, Ro, if she loves him, we'll make do_ – but Rouge had heard none of the personal outpourings, and even then, she was not a woman to believe love was the be-all end-all of things.

Leia tilted her head, and smiled a little.

"I've asked Han to behave himself and he's agreed to be polite," she said, pausing wryly, "though I do need to warn you, Han's idea of being polite is saying ' _damn'_ instead of – "

Leia casually demonstrated a stream of colourful, soldier-like swearing that left her Aunt staring at her with wide-shocked eyes, and half a mind to reach across the table and smack her in the mouth.

Winter arched her brows, otherwise expressionless, while Rouge moved her lips soundlessly, glaring at Leia.

"I suppose," she said icily, finally regaining herself, "you learned that unrepentant _filth_ from him?"

Leia did not bat an eyelash.

"Hardly," she denied simply – offering no explanation.

Rouge struggled enough with the fact that not all members of society were refined; it would likely break her heart to hear that Leia had learned such _unrepentant filth,_ as she called it, from none other than Breha Organa, for the Queen stubbing her toe had been a fearsome thing.

Leia remembered sitting on a stool, agape in shock, when her mother whirled around, remembered she was sitting there, and crouched down to kiss her nose with a wink, and a quiet plea – _don't tell your Papa._

Smiling at the memory, Leia leaned forward, resting her weight on her forearms a little.

"He's going to be around, Aunt Rouge," she said softly. "Is that so difficult to bear?"

Her aunt sighed, turning her head, presenting them with a regal profile.

"Well, I suppose in all honesty, I hardly know the man to judge him," she mused.

Winter shared a look with Leia – that was generally positive. Rouge reached for her teacup, stirring it a bit, looking down into it, and taking a few contemplative sips. She put it down and sighed, drumming her fingers on the table.

"It's his overall background that bothers you, isn't it?" Leia ventured. "Tell me what the worst part about him is in your opinion, Aunt Rouge, and I'll try to give you something to counter it," she bargained.

Rouge fluttered her hands around, exasperated.

"Well, he's just, flustering, Leia, he _flusters_ me," she burst out.

Leia blinked slowly, trying hard not to shoot another look at Winter beside her. Winter leaned back and touched her cheek thoughtfully, staring at Rouge intently.

"I suppose fluster is a progression from…indignant outrage," Leia remarked.

Rouge sighed, waving her hands some more.

"He's just very – brash, and his manners are – unrefined – you know," Rouge went on, her expression pinched. "I'm used to court manners and very controlled politesse and General Solo, he's just very … manly."

Leia bit the inside of her cheek as hard as humanly possible to keep herself from bursting into an incredulous grin.

"Pardon me, ah, Rouge," Winter said, her features schooled. "Are you – it seems you have a very angry crush on him," she analyzed, with the air of a wise old professor talking to a young prodigy.

"I have no such thing," Rouge responded regally, setting her shoulders back loftily. "I'm simply pointing out that he's overbearing and, aggressive, and he seems like," she sighed; Solo was nothing like the fine, fluffy gentlemen of her aristocratic youth, "a lot of man to handle at once."

Winter turned her head, shielding her eyes with her hand, and caught Leia's eye – did Rouge even realize how she sounded? Leia twitched her lashes to acknowledge Winter's gleeful side-eye, and cleared her throat.

"Well, I assure you, I can handle him," she said, "and I would appreciate your efforts to be conciliatory towards him."

Rouge sighed, a troubled expression on her face, and touched her forehead delicately.

"He's just so…big."

Leia opened her mouth slightly, hesitating. Winter turned her head back to Rouge, her hand falling from her face in disbelief.

" _Rouge_ ," she hissed, speaking through gritted teeth to hold back a burst of laughter. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Rouge blinked, her eyes wide.

Leia leaned back a little, arching a brow.

"Well, I," Rouge started, and then flushed slightly, mustering a mortified scowl. "I meant he's very tall – girls, _GIRLS_!" she shrieked, as Winter nearly dissolved into hysterics.

Rouge's nostrils flared as she scrambled to be articulate.

"You two – you little blue-minded – I wasn't being vulgar – you're letting your imaginations run absolutely out of control – "

"Imagination?" Winter quipped. She gestured lazily at Leia. "I think she's probably seen it."

Rouge gave a little scandalized squeak, and Winter threw a smug look at Leia.

"She's _clearly_ dying to know, Leia, is he big?"

Leia's lips twitched slightly, and Rouge smacked her hand on the table.

"I will speak to your father about this!" she railed.

"Don't go to Pasha," Winter gasped, leaning forward in amusement, "Rouge, you'll kill him," she laughed. "What are you going to say? ' _Bail_ ,'" Winter mimicked Rouge, " _'I'm quite concerned Leia's paramour has a big_ – "

Leia inclined her head seriously, reaching over with one hand to press her palm over Winter's lips demurely.

"Yes, Aunt Rouge, I'd really appreciate if you refrained from talking to Father about Han's manhood," she requested diplomatically.

Rouge stood up from the table and turned in a huff, her blush spreading down her neck, and Leia shared a glance with Winter, lowering her hand from her friends' lips – Winter raised her eyebrows, and Leia leaned over to grab her hand, stifling laughter.

She missed her other aunts for a moment, Celly and Tia – she imagined Tia's reaction, refusing to acknowledge that the conversation had just happened at all, and Celly – Celly would probably have some solemn story about how even thinking about a man's – she'd come up with an _awful_ euphemism – was a stain on Leia's purity, and would likely result in blindness.

"Drink your tea, Rouge," Winter said gently, fanning herself teasingly.

Rouge scowled, her face red, and did so. She considered the cooling liquid for a long time after, and then cleared her throat, speaking as she placed it down on the saucer.

"He's just – hardly what I would have imagined for you, Leia," she said bluntly, the click of porcelain against porcelain punctuating her words.

She bowed her head a moment.

"You're the pride of House Organa," she said, almost wistfully – as if she perhaps weren't anymore, with Han in the picture.

Leia ignored it, for the time being; she could hope, for now, that it was just because Rouge didn't know Han yet.

Her aunt looked up, perturbed.

"Does he pull your seat out for you?" she asked.

Winter sighed, a sort of exasperated sigh – as if that mattered at all – but Leia tried to see the deeper meaning in what Rouge was asking. The same thing Bail had asked, essentially – _is he good, does he respect you, and does he love you?_ Leia chose not to tell Rouge that in the mess hall on Hoth, Han had once deliberately loosened the legs of her favorite stool so it fell out from under her halfway through her meal and deposited her on the icy floor.

She cleared her throat.

"You want some sort of story that implies Han can be the gentleman you envisioned for me?" Leia asked perceptively.

Rouge gave a short sigh.

"I doubt there is such a thing."

Leia leaned back in her seat. She picked up her teacup, took a long sip of it while she thought about what she was going to say –after all, most of this openness about her relationship was new to her; she was so good at playing it close to the vest, and keeping her treasures to herself.

Leia set her tea back down, and folded her arms, pressing her fingertips into her own elbows. She sighed quietly.

"A little over a year ago, Han thought I was in love with someone else," she said simply. "He thought I had fallen out of love with him while he was in carbonite, and that everything he'd done, for me, in the three previous years, would be futile," she explained. "And do you know how he reacted?"

Rouge looked at her patiently – and Winter did, too, because she hadn't heard this.

"He told me he wouldn't get in the way."

Leia tilted her head.

"Do you understand what that means, Aunt Rouge?"

"He had no intention of fighting for you?" she murmured, skeptical.

Leia smiled a little wryly.

"He had no intention of fighting _over_ me," she corrected, "if it meant I would ultimately just be happy. He wanted me to be _happy_ more than he wanted me to be _his."_

Rouge seemed to resist, yet blinked curiously.

"Who did he think you were in love with?" she asked, with an air that implied she wanted to know if Leia had a more appropriate suitor lurking somewhere.

Leia blinked guardedly.

"That's irrelevent," she said, deadpan - well, she hoped that story never came up again.

Leia sighed after a moment, and leaned forward, holding a hand out.

"He also," she said, very quietly, "could not possibly have cared _less_ about Darth Vader."

Leia licked her lips.

"If it wasn't enough that he just didn't give a damn about it, I was railing about Luke's attitude about Anakin Skywalker once, and I said something about Vader being my father, and Han barely even missed a beat – he said: 'What? You were adopted, no he wasn't. Vader wasn't your _dad_.'"

Leia shook her head in wonder.

"He didn't _think_ about saying that, Rouge. He just said it. He believed it."

Rouge considered Leia for a long time, and after a moment, a quiet smile touched her lips – she was, truly, easily softened by anyone and anything that reinforced the idea that Leia was wholly theirs, the Organas. They were all fiercely adamant about it, and Han's opinion there would speak well.

"Well," Rouge began, after a long silence. "I'll put my best food forward, darling," she promised, lifting her teacup. She gave Winter, and then Leia, a very sharp, matronly look – "But he best endeavor to impress me."

Leia leaned back, brushing her lips with her fingers – and she sensed it wasn't snobbery, in Rouge's last little threat, but a very genuine concern for Leia's heart, and happiness.

* * *

 _*yes, it's Leia meeting Chewie's family next_

 _-alexandra_


	5. Leia, Malla, and Lumpy

_a/n: i tried to include some sibling fun, and some family fun - very light-hearted, as this outtake takes place days before the wedding and after Leia's major breakthrough with the Force._

* * *

 **Outtake 5: Leia, Malla, and Lumpy (+ Luke, Han, and Chewie)**

 _Reference: Identity, Chapter Thirty-One (31)_

* * *

Luke tilted his head at the flickering holo screen mounted on the living room wall, sort of lazily paying attention to the news stories flickering across it. Leia often kept it on the channel that displayed four major Media options, and that made it very easy for her brother to keep up in a succinct, no-nonsense way – except the Media was _entirely_ nonsense, lately, because the entire establishment seemed to have forgotten that a Constitution had recently been ratified and instead chosen to present the Princess of Alderaan's impending wedding as the most significant event of the – _century_?

That was what a female newscaster on Holo Eleven was saying – " _the biggest event of the century"_ – and Luke tilted his head curiously, thinking… _was the defeat of Imperial tyranny not a big deal…?_

He shook his head, bemused; Leia said the Media was angry because she had refused to authorize a live broadcast of the wedding and had nixed issuing any press invites – the only images released would be specifically selected by Leia and Rouge and would be produced by Alderaanian photographers whose education Rouge had funded.

Luke was starting to believe she was right, considering their pettiness about the issue – they had started taking particular pleasure in harassing Bail about ceremony details instead of letting him do his duties –

" _And what colour will the Princess's wedding dress be, Viceroy? Not white? Why is that?"_

" _Well, customarily, Alderaanian women do not wear – "_

" _Yes sir, but on Corellia, women wear white unless – "_

" _Princess Leia isn't Corellian, is she?"_ – Luke grinned, leaning forward, and a second reporter shoved a microphone at Bail –

"Luke," Leia said sharply, marching past the sitting room doorway. "Turn that _drivel_ off."

Gleefully, he held out his hand in protest.

"But, sis! I want to see what's happening with the royal wedding!"

"You are _in_ the royal wedding," she growled, darting back past the door.

Luke heard a door slam, and Han came into the room grinning vaguely rubbing his forehead. He held up his hand, three fingers wriggling pointedly.

"Outfit change number three," he whispered, moving around a decorative table and collapsing in an armchair with a fond look on his face. "I think when I told her Malla was a _housewife_ she somehow translated it to 'intergalactic fashion critic'," he joked.

Luke arched his brows. He glanced around as if to check if Leia was anywhere near.

"Why's she acting like this?" he asked, smiling.

Han slouched down and put his hands behind his head casually, propping his boots up on the table.

"Eh? Like what?" he asked absently, as if he hadn't just poked fun at her.

Luke gave him a look.

"This," he said, waving his hand wildly. "She's running around like a half-drunk, half-blind womp rat, changing clothes, cleaning things," he listed.

Han snorted.

"She rinsed a dirty mug in the sink; that's not cleaning," he remarked. Then, he tilted his head and thought about it – "Actually, it is Leia's idea of cleaning. She thinks fairies clean the dishes." Han glared at Luke, and pointed to his chest. "The cleaning fairies are me," he elaborated darkly.

Luke shrugged.

"I'm sure your fairy wings are very manly," he said seriously.

Han rolled his eyes, and then turned a little, craning his head to look down the hall and shrugging.

"She's not really acting that weird," he muttered. "She always does this."

"Leia?" Luke clarified, eyes wide in disbelief. He snorted skeptically. "No, I've never seen Leia act – uh, frazzled? – about meeting anyone."

"Well, you don't live with her."

Luke frowned.

"She's always put together," he pointed out.

"In public," Han said flippantly.

Luke snickered.

"She's acting like a girl," he pointed out – Leia had been trying to decide what to wear to meet Chewie's family for two hours, and Luke had been taking it in with bemused side-ways glances, while Han had sort of trailed her around the apartment alternately teasing her and trying to help.

Han feigned a troubled look and blinked at Luke.

"You mean to tell me…I'm marrying…a bona fide… _woman_?" he asked, deadpan.

Luke rolled his eyes.

"I _just_ mean – " he started.

Han grinned.

"Yeah, kid, I know," he said. He glanced around again, and then sat forward, bringing his hands down to his knees. "She was like this before I met Winter, too," he said simply. He tilted his head. "I keep tellin' her Malla is going to like her," he said. "She just _ignores_ me."

"Sounds about right," Luke said, and Han glared at him.

He tilted his head thoughtfully.

"I wonder what she's thinking," he mused.

"You stay out of her head!" Han said, sticking a finger out and pointing at Luke narrowly – "Don't do it, kid! You'll piss her off!"

Luke grinned wickedly – he closed his eyes, and after a moment, he winced, but started laughing –

" _Stop_ it, _Luke_!" Leia yelled from the back of the apartment, sounding exactly like an irritated little sister ought to sound at her pesky brother – and Luke slumped down, clutching his ribs, nearly choking on his laughter –

"She's just – she's just," he gasped, "over and over again, she's just thinking the names of your – your ex-girlfriends – "

Han sat up straight, alarmed. Luke covered his mouth, sobering up a little at the look on Han's face, and shook his head –

"No, Han, I don't think she's _upset_ – " he started.

Han got up anyway, striding out of the room quickly and marching directly into he back bedroom. He found Leia tying the sash of a loose, casual summer dress. It was a soft, earthy green, and draped off one shoulder fetchingly. The skirt fell to her knees, and it was a significant change from the fitted white slacks and red blouse she'd been wearing ten minutes ago.

"Leia," he said gruffly, kicking the door half-shut as he entered. "What's the problem?"

She looked up, smoothing out the sash, and turned to show him the bow she'd tied in the back.

"Does it look okay?"

"Looks like a bow. Nice. Why're you thinking about Jess and Bria?"

" _Luke_ ," she snarled, somehow managing to make his name sound like a completely different word.

She whirled around and put a hand to her face, sitting back with a sigh, her hip perched against the bedside table. She lowered the hand to her hip and shrugged vaguely, giving him an annoyed look.

"That's who I'll be compared to, is it not?" she asked, matter-of-fact. "Let's see, they were tall, leggy redheads who were well-known to Malla, and here I am, about to marry you, and I haven't even made an effort to meet _her_ – "

Han came forward and sat on the bed at an angle towards her. He leaned forward and shook his head, smiling.

"Kriff," he muttered, almost affectionately. "Uh, we were kind of busy for a while there, Sweetheart, couldn't just hop off to Kashyyyk like I did when I was bumming around with them," he pointed out. He shook his head. "Malla's not pissed you've never met her. I told you, she's been waitin' for this."

Leia sighed. She looked up at the ceiling.

"Precisely," she agreed after a moment. "I'm suddenly remembering that I come off in the Media as a _bitch."_ She looked back at him _._ "That may be all she's seen."

"You don't come off as a bitch," Han said.

Leia cocked a brow, and he hastily moved on – "You think Chewie has told her anything but good things?" he asked. He leaned forward and squeezed her knee. "C'mon, Leia," he soothed. "You're marryin' me," he said, flashing a smirk, "that's enough to recommend you to 'em."

Leia looked up at him through her lashes.

"This is possibly the closest I'll get to – it's like meeting your mother," she tried to explain.

Han blinked, taken aback.

"Ahhhh," he sighed hesitantly. "Malla's not my mother," he muttered.

"They're your family," Leia said softly – perceptively. "I want her approval."

Han looked down at his hands. He scrubbed his thumb against his palm, tilting his head back and forth slowly – she was right, he reckoned; Chewie, and Chewie's mate and son, were likely the closest thing he had to family – technically, they were the only guests at the wedding who were purely his invites.

He looked up at her, figuring out something encouraging to say, but he felt like he'd already said everything he could, so he just looked her over thoughtfully.

"You look beautiful," he said simply.

She smiled faintly.

The door chimes rang, and Leia straightened, looking towards the door. Han arched his brows and stood up, holding out his hand.

"Hey," Luke yelled, his voice muffled. "Do I get the door?"

Leia laughed a little.

"Yeah, grab it," Han yelled back, pausing for a moment to lean forward and kiss her forehead.

He ran his hand over her shoulder, suddenly feeling very – humbled that she was so earnest to make a good impression on _his_ side. She was…an ambassador, a senator, the Princess of Alderaan, likely the future Chief of State of the whole goddamn New Republic, and here she stood, worried about her outfit for meeting his best friend's wife.

He smiled, and kissed her forehead again, squeezing her hand and beckoning her.

"I think this dress screams that I'm trying to hard," she hissed as he lead her down the hall.

"What?" he snorted.

"It's _green_. Kashyyyk is green."

"Leia," Han laughed. "Calm down."

He stepped into the living room with her, where Luke was standing and chatting amiably with Chewie and Malla, polite, small conversation – he had just finished shaking Lumpy's hand when Chewie spotted Han and gave a roar of greeting.

"Hey, pal," Han said brightly, striding forward with Leia at his heels. He scratched Chewie behind the ears and then turned to Malla. "How was the – _argh_!" His question was interrupted as he found himself dragged into an aggressive embrace, Malla ruffling his hair until it stood up and greeting him enthusiastically.

He went obediently limp, submitting to the affection, and Luke shared a grin with Leia, which she returned earnestly.

 _[Ma,]_ Lumpy griped quietly, _[Let him go! His mate's watching!]_

Han muffled something in agreement, and Malla released him, touching his shoulders. She gave a series of reprimanding growls, and then turned to glance at Leia surreptitiously, murmuring – _[I have waited long enough, Cub]._

Han nodded, and Leia stepped closer. Han put his hands on her shoulders, stepping back to better introduce her.

"Yeah," he said. "So," he began gruffly, "this is – "

 _[The Princess of Alderaan!]_ Lumpy interrupted proudly, his eyes wide.

Han glared at him, but it was nothing compared to the ferocious look his mother turned on him, which quailed him instantly.

"I just call her Leia, though," he said pointedly.

" _Sometimes_ you still call her Princess," Luke piped up obnoxiously.

"Well, that's Luke, he's got no social skills," Han introduced brightly, fixing his eyes on Malla and moving back to Leia with purpose. "Malla," he said, more seriously. "This is Leia," he said, and then gestured at the tall Wookiee woman at Chewbacca's side, "Leia, Chewie's Mate, Mallatobuck."

He pointed next to her.

"Their son, Lumpawarrump."

 _[Malla,]_ Chewie supplied, _[and Lumpy – I expect you will have as much trouble with my son's full name as Han does]._

Han gave Chewie and annoyed look.

Malla inclined her head forward, and then put her large paws together and bent forward at the waist, which Lumpy mimicked immediately. Leia looked startled, and shook her head, leaning forward and, without thinking, placing her hands on Malla's shoulders.

"Oh no, please don't," she said quickly. "I'm not – no ceremony," she said. "I'm _just_ Leia – Chewie is family; you mustn't _bow_."

Malla looked up at her, startled, and Leia felt insecure suddenly, like she shouldn't have laid hands on the Wookiee without permission – she wracked her head for cultural customs; was that considered offensive in theirs? Before she could remember, Malla had let out a soft, kind growl, and reached forward to drag Leia into the same kind of hug she'd greeted Han with.

Han winced, and stepped forward, afraid the force of the hug might make Leia uncomfortable, but he saw her burst into a delighted smile, reaching up hesitantly to touch the hair behind Malla's ear, just as she sometimes did to Chewie.

Malla roared, pleased, and after a moment, released Leia.

 _[You are much lovelier than you are on the holos,]_ she said, stepping back with a kind inclination of her head. She cocked it to the side curiously. _[And much tinier.]_

 _[Malla!]_ Chewbacca growled. _[She understands Shriyywook!]_

Leia's face flushed, but she laughed.

"Well," she said breathlessly, "I have the holos film me at an angle that makes me look taller," she confessed.

Lumpy stepped forward and held out his paws; Leia took them and clasped them kindly – not fully grown, he was still taller than her, but only a bit. He pulled his lips back in a smile, and bent to kiss her hand politely.

 _[Ma's wanted to meet you for ages,]_ he said nicely. _[She couldn't decide what gifts to bring, so she brought everything we own.]_ It was a wry joke, and Leia blushed - -but Chewbacca gestured to the table, where a woven basket was, and Malla picked it up seriously, having Lumpy remove the lid.

 _[It is tradition that we bear gifts,]_ she said.

Han sat down on the arm of a sofa, leaning towards Luke to watch as Leia was presented with the customary sort of thing Wookiee's did for a member of their honor family.

 _[This is – it is a robe, woven from some of the wools native to my planet,]_ Malla explained, holding out a beautifully sewn concoction that was a few shades darker than Leia's dress. _[I thought of weaving a dress, but I was not sure of human fashions, and then I was afraid you would not like the colour of this robe, but I see,]_ she trailed off, gesturing to Leia's outfit, and Leia took the garment in her hands.

"This is gorgeous," she breathed. "You—wove this yourself?"

Malla inclined her head very demurely, and Leia sighed over the talent of it.

"You must have spent so much time," she began.

 _[It was no trouble at all,]_ Malla said. _[I wanted to bring you very meaningful things. It is very important to us that Han is happy.]_

Leia flushed – and she was presented with more of the famous teas Chewie always brought her back from Kashyyyk visits, seeds to plant vines native to the planet, herbal medicines, and a fragile, wicker-bead bracelet that she knew must have also been made by Malla herself.

She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging, and placed the things in the basket – save for the bracelet, which she slipped on before she stepped forward to reach up and scratch Malla behind the ears again.

"Thank you," she said.

She took a deep breath, and looked among all three of them.

"Thank you all for taking care of Han," she said.

Han gave a protracted groan from behind her.

 _[Shut up,]_ growled Chewbacca sternly.

Han gave him an outraged look; Luke laughed.

"Malla, I know how difficult it must be to live without Chewie," Leia said, and turned soft eyes on Lumpy, "and I know it's hard to miss your father," she said. She smiled at them both. "Chewie has kept Han alive more – more than a few times," she laughed, and she heard Luke mutter something mocking at Han, which earned him a smack in the back of the head – "He's kept me alive, too," she said, "so – thank you. For your strength," she finished, "for letting us have him, and for taking Han in instead of resenting him."

Malla bowed her head. She reached forward and hugged Leia again, turning her head in close to Leia's ear – she spoke low enough for a fellow Wookiee to hear her, and maybe for Han and Luke to make out a few words, but low, for Leia only –

 _[He is a very good man, Leia,]_ Malla murmured, and Leia was both surprised, and delighted, that she actually did _not_ use her title; most beings did, even when asked not to, and Leia felt it was a clear indication that Malla viewed her as a person, an equal – she didn't care if Leia was a princess, she cared if – _[You must treat him well. You must be good to him. You seem to be his grandest accomplishment,]_ she complimented, _[and it would be so unforgiveable if he were hurt.]_

Chewbacca gave an alarmed little growl, and Lumpy tilted his head, arching his eyebrows – but Leia was unfazed; in fact, she was glad Han had someone to look out for him, because – throughout all of this, so much concern had been about Leia's feelings, Leia's well-being, whether or not Han was good to Leia, good enough for Leia – and not a single person had worried that Leia might hurt Han.

Leia pulled back and nodded, her face a picture of honesty.

"You can trust me, Malla," she assured her.

She turned and looked at Han for a moment, smiling, and then turned back to Chewbacca's wife proudly, her head held high –

"Han's sort of like my life debt," she said, putting it into perspective.

Malla grinned at her fondly, and Han stood up, coming up to put his arm around Leia.

"You don't owe me your life," he said hastily, shaking his head.

 _[I understand what she is trying to say,]_ Malla said placidly. _[Han, do not correct your woman in front of company; who raised you?]_

Han drew his hand off Leia, offended, and shot a look at Chewie – Chewie shrugged blandly. Luke stood back up and came forward, beaming, and held out his hands –

"How does everyone feel about dinner?" he asked.

Malla looked at him as if she had just noticed him, and then gave a delighted roar for him, as well – _[You are the little Jedi who is like Han's brother!]_

She pulled Luke into a bone-crushing hug, and Leia leaned into Han's side, laughing smugly at the look of shock on her brother's face – she was marring Han in two days, _two days!_ – and it felt like she'd earned the final blessing she needed.

* * *

 _The End_

* * *

 _ah, and thus we end our outtakes!_  
 _my new star wars tattoo and i can buckle down and get on The Naberries._

 _-alexandra_


End file.
